Nothing, Sir
by Lil'Dutchy
Summary: 'The touching always came more freely to him when he was emotional; happy or sad. He seemed to have no scruples about touching her -no pun intended- at work. She had hardly ever laid a hand on him, but he was a different story.' After the 6th series. L/H
1. Chapter 1

Okay, I tried to keep this as close to the _Know Thine Enemy_ episode, but I just love Nathaniel as Lynley with the longer hair. So I kept that in for me, knowing that his hair was shorter during this episode. I held back guys, to keep things realistic, so let me have this, please :) I have not beta'd this so I'm sorry for any mishaps and misspellings. My first ILM fanfic, don't kill me.

The Inspector Lynley Mysteries and its characters belong to Elizabeth George (and the writers of the TV series).

Oh, and on a further note: I hate the Beeb for cancelling the series. And yes, I STILL do hold this grudge (about the size of my hate towards Helen's poorly written character) against the Beeb and will for years to come. They robbed me of the only handsome detective and a possible realistic British TV relationship. Now all I have left are Lewis and other old men. Ewgh.

* * *

**Nothing, Sir.**

**Chapter 1**

She couldn't believe herself at times. She knew her record didn't exactly earn her the 'Policewoman of the Year Award' but that was work, wasn't it? Then again, she had never been exactly proficient at making new friends either and that did concern her private life. That _did_ concern her social capabilities. Or lack thereof.

Was she lacking this much socially? There had to be a reason as to why she hadn't caught on to Tania sooner, hadn't there? Or had she really been that desperate to find a female friend to confide certain personal affairs in that she had been blind for signs of betrayal? Had she really stooped this low?

Then again, the living proof of the fact that she indeed had managed to be part of a long-lasting friendship was sitting right next to her on the black couch. Detective Inspector Thomas Lynley. Or Tommy, to friends. To her he would always be 'Sir', though.

It wasn't that she didn't _want_ to call him by his first name, it was just that she found it to be quite…different. Awkward, if you will. Anyway, he only called her by her first name when he was trying to get through to her at work, or when he was being emotional and spoke to her on a personal level.

The touching always came more freely to him when he was emotional; happy or sad. He seemed to have no scruples about touching her (no pun intended) at work. She had hardly ever laid a hand on him, but he was a different story altogether. A hand on her shoulder, giving her an encouraging squeeze when she'd find a piece of information, significant to a case. Standing closely behind her (sometimes too close to her personal liking), peering over her shoulder to check evidence she'd be holding in her hands. A hand on her upper arm, making sure or checking if she would be alright.

A stranger might have thought they were an 'item', as Winston had once so charmingly put it (although she liked to compare her relationship with _her_ DI to the relationship between Punch and Judy). She smirked as she thought fondly of her former young neighbour, Hadiyyah, who had asked her if he had been her boyfriend.

Hell, she was far more concerned whether_ he_ would be alright. She had had her fair share of doubts, but since working on the Tania-case he had seemed more like his old self. It had comforted her knowing he was laying off the booze.

"Happy birthday to you…"

She shuddered. The sound of Tania's voice, now knowing she was in fact a killer and nothing like a friend, pierced her mind and thoughts and made her feel sick to her stomach. These damned tapes…

"I know we have to look at them some time, Sir, but…" She looked at him, her colleague, friend, constant companion and dare she say it; tower of strength in desperate hours.

Lynley glanced over at her while she turned off the TV.

"…not now," he said. His voice was tired and laced with…concern?

He should not be concerned for her. In fact, if anyone had any reason to be concerned, it was her, Barbara Havers. Had he, Thomas Lynley, not been in the gutter for the past half year? Had she not been calling in on him weekly to make sure he was alright?

Tears welled up nonetheless but she fought them. She would not cry in front of him. She had only done so once, having been threatened with a gun not too long after she'd recovered from her gun wound. He had been such a…sweetheart, for lack of a better word in her personal dictionary, comforting her.

Ah, and there IT was. The staring. She knew he was looking at her, even though she was looking straight ahead. She could feel his eyes, nearly burning a hole in her right cheek. She felt her cheeks heat up a bit, despite herself. She couldn't help it, really. His stares had always been so intense, she felt like she was always under his close scrutiny. And perhaps a part of her liked this about him; at least he kept a close eye on her.

He cared for her. He'd never really told her in so many words, but he didn't need to. She simply knew, if the staring was anything to go by.

She admired him. She liked him. She adored him.

She _loved_ him.

And she was a fool for doing so. Because she didn't just love him as a friend. Oh no, that would have been to easy, wouldn't it? She didn't know exactly when it had happened, when she had fallen in love with him. It had caught her completely by surprise. Somewhere between Helen's death and right now, something had shifted.

Maybe he hadn't been that far off when she had confronted him in front of his flat and he had told her that "there is a fine line between concerned friend and intrusive pest". Well, she didn't consider herself_ that_ intrusive, or a pest, but in her mind she felt she had definitely crossed the line of 'friend' where he was concerned.

And she had absolutely no notion of where this left her, exactly.

She knew her inner turmoil had left her with zero options of declining his offer to go for a drink and leave the tapes be for the time being. She hadn't been looking forward to spending a night like this one alone. She could do with his comfort, even if it meant his pity. At least he had been the perfect gent, which she had expected him to be, and had not 'told her so'.

So here she was. In for a night of facing him in a nicely crowded pub, sitting in a relatively dark, quiet and private corner (considering the amount of people present), next to a stained glass window, sipping the head off of her beer. She'd always liked the bitter taste of the froff, and at least it would be sure to preoccupy her mind, keeping it off other things, like the way his lips moved when he spoke. Or the way his deep, rich baritone voice could scare her or make her shudder internally. Or the way his dark brown eyes would observe her (thinking she did not take any notice, which, thank you very much, she did); impossibly dark and unreadable when he was passionate about something. Happy…or sad.

Returning from the gents he sat down, facing her as she'd predicted, and took a sip of his drink. His jacket had been casually slung over the back of the dark wooden chair he was sitting on, leaving him in a dark shirt and some jeans. He wore his hair longer these days, as he had some years ago, and she decided she liked it on him. It made him look…younger. More approachable and dare she say; slightly mischievous. For some reason, whatever he decided to wear, it looked good on him. Handsome. A long sleeved shirt and some jeans or a three piece suit, everything seemed to agree with this man. Perhaps that was one of the perks of being of noble blood. Or better yet; one of the requirements.

She smirked.

"Barbara?" His rich voice brought her out of her reverie, even though he spoke in a low and quiet timbre. There was a definite trace of amusement in his voice.

"Sir?", she asked, mildly worried that she'd just missed out on his entire life story (even though she figured she knew pretty much all there was to know about him on that front) because of her silly daydreaming.

"You haven't been listening, have you?" Even though his voice would probably sound slightly angry to a stranger, Barbara knew he was amused and just testing her.

"No Sir, I'm sorry, my mind was somewhere else." She figured a white lie would harm no-one.

"Ah, the tapes?"

_Thank God, a way out._

"Yeah, it's just a lot to take in, Sir."

_Breathe, Havers, breathe._

"Understandable, of course. If you feel you need to take a couple of days leave…" he suggested. There was something of hesitation in his voice, as though he didn't want her to-

"No, Sir, I'll be fine." A raised eyebrow from across the table made her reaffirm her statement with a "_Really_, Sir.".

He chuckled in his glass. Gods, she loved that sound. Oh yeah, she was in so deep. She could've knocked herself out with a brick. Gods, she was stupid.

He would never fall for a woman like her. He liked his women educated. Sophisticated. Groomed. Stylish. She was or possessed none of the before mentioned qualities he seemed to look for in a woman. And after Helen, she was sure she wouldn't measure up. Besides, venting her feelings to him, well, it would mean risking a friendship, hell, the _only_ true friendship she'd ever had. She couldn't do that.

"I was just saying Havers, we should do this more often." He smiled at her, a true, genuine smile, the ones he saved only for his closest friends and family. Her face lit up at the revelation that she was still part of this small circle of people and she was pretty sure she was beaming at him like a beacon. Naturally, he took this as a confirmation of his statement and his smile broadened.

She felt they were smiling at each other like lovesick fools for hours, even though it was only a matter of seconds, before she averted her gaze and looked down at her glass. She couldn't stare him in the eye for too long during moments like this. She was slightly inebriated. Her tongue would loosen up after her second beer and before she would know it, she would be drowning in his dark eyes, darkened by the flickering light of the candle on their table, swooning and pouring out her hearts' contents onto the table.

And that just wouldn't do at all.

Gods, she couldn't do things like this more often with him! She would be sure to trip and fall and embarrass herself in front of him. And even though she had faith in their friendship, it would be sure to receive a nasty dent. She couldn't be selfish. He needed her. As a _friend_. Not a lovesick puppy ogling at him like he was the best piece of candy in the candy store.

_Well…he does have a very nice ass…_

"Barbara?" His voice was so gentle, soft and deep…

And all of a sudden she couldn't stop herself from looking him straight in the eye. She couldn't breathe. And from the looks of things, neither could he.

Her eyes were glued to his handsomely chiselled features; his round cheekbones, his strong jaw, his worried, quizzical brow, frowning at her with a uncertain look pasted onto his face. Onto his mouth, to be more specific.

Oh, how she longed to reach out. To touch his warm cheek with the palm of her hand. To feel the dark shadow of stubble, a days' growth, underneath her soft skin. To rub his cheekbone with her thumb. To touch his plumb lips with her fingers, run over them, feeling their texture and familiarizing herself with it. To simply run her hands through his dark, wavy hair and ruffle it like he'd done so many times with hers now that her hair had grown longer, teasing her and messing up her do (and yes, she considered it a do).

She wanted to kiss him. Desperately. At that moment, there was nothing in the world that Barbara Havers wanted more than to kiss _her_ DI; Thomas 'Tommy' Lynley. Her _Sir_. Her knight, without shining armour, although a bulletproof vest did count in her book. She wasn't much of a romantic, but Gods…

Without any contemplation as to any form of sensibility, she found herself entranced by his lips, his stare, his dark eyes.

He seemed to be as captivated by her as she was by him, although for the love of all things, she couldn't figure out why.

She was leaning forward and only realized it when she felt the edge of the table poke into her ribs.

She wanted to move back but figured that would make her entire move look strange and out of place, so she pretended to be examining his face.

_Yeah, because that will make so much sense to him._

She wanted to do so much more than just kiss him. She wanted to drag him after her, have him push her up against the nearest wall and kiss her senseless. Roughly. Biting her lips, dominating her. She wanted him to grab her hips and pull them flush against his own. She wanted him to touch her breasts, squeeze them and make her moan. She wanted to grab those firm ass cheeks and feel his desire for her pulsing against–

She wanted him. Oh, she was in trouble now.

"Barbara…" his voice was no more than a mere whisper now, croaked, low and husky. It sent shivers up and down her spine and did all sorts of funny things to her insides.

Her own breathing was heavy and laboured, her mouth was open ever so slightly and she could feel her own uneven breathing. Abruptly, she looked away from him, to stare at a very interesting spot on the wall behind his head.

"Barbara, is there…something you wish to tell me?" he inquired.

_You have no idea…_

Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself. She looked into his eyes and what she found there she could only describe as raw, unadulterated lust. The whole intense staring had only been a matter of a minute, tops, but she felt like she had aged terribly and considerably. Something had shifted again and she was pretty sure this time around she wasn't the only one who'd felt it.

She'd be mad no to want to–

"No, nothing, Sir."

She smiled, but it wasn't heartfelt.

* * *

I couldn't very well let them kiss that easily, could I? That would be like throwing realism right out of the window and kicking character descriptions out of the door. I have no idea whether I shall continue this. I usually write these things late at night, in the 'heat' of the moment, without proper thought as to how to continue. This time is no exception to that personal rule. So please do not expect too much from me. Thank you. And I love reviews.


	2. Chapter 2

Just a short note; this story takes place after _Know Thine Enemy_, roughly a year after Helen died. Just so you know :) I am terrible at timelines so I hope this makes sense throughout this 'story', somehow.

Chapter two, written from Lynley's perspective. Same events, different angle, longer chapter. I have not beta'd this so I'm sorry for any mishaps and misspellings. I'm Dutch and I try not to step on British toes but I can't help it if I do. My first ILM fanfic, don't kill me.

The Inspector Lynley Mysteries and its characters belong to Elizabeth George (and the writers of the TV series).

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**Nothing, Sir.**

**Chapter 2**

Her statement had been short, but her voice had been lacking any of its usual strength or passion. With a tremulous voice she had told him she knew they had to look at Tania's tapes at some time, _Sir_, but…

Always the 'Sir'. Although he had suggested to her repeatedly that she should call him Tommy or Thomas even, if she preferred it, when they were just among the two of them and not working, she still called him 'Sir'. It irked him. Yes, it was true that they were still at work at this very moment but he felt they had once again overstepped the colleagues/friends boundary with this case. He called her Barbara more often than he cared to admit to himself. Most of the time he didn't even notice it anymore.

She turned off the TV.

"…not now," he heard himself finishing her sentence lamely, in a wavering voice. He tried not to sound too concerned but he knew his attempt had been futile. He _was_ concerned for her well-being and found it difficult to hide this from her.

He knew Havers well enough to know that losing this budding friendship would cause a blow to her self-esteem. She wasn't socially lacking, but he was fairly certain she was doubting her social skills at this very moment. The only thing she was lacking was self-esteem when it came to making friends, amongst other things. He couldn't think of anyone else who had been a better friend to him than Barbara; she had no reason to be uncertain.

She had always been there. She had seen him at his best and had definitely witnessed him at his utter worst; beard, stench, alcohol, 'having a bit on the side' and all. But she had never left him. She had never given up on him. Ever. Yes, she had called him things during those six to eight pathetic months that he would not repeat even to himself, but in retrospect; she had had every right to do so. He had been a complete and utterly incompetent ass. Even though he knew she was merely expressing her concern by calling in on him on a weekly basis, he had snapped at her when she had confronted him in front of his flat. He loved her for being his friend and for expressing her concern, but at the same time he had had no idea whatsoever as to how to deal with it. He still had no single clue.

She'd never really been one to express her feelings and now that he had been struggling with his, he'd also have to cope with hers?

He adored her for it. And at the same time he had absolutely no idea where this had left them, exactly, regarding their friendship.

Her dismissal had been short and swift when telling her former young girl next-door that he most certainly was not her boyfriend. He had had to admit to himself that they weren't fit to be together in any way, but still…it had stung a little being dismissed that easily. If truth be told, he would have considered it rather amusing playing 'the boyfriend' for a bit, to entertain the young girl. And to annoy Havers.

He had once overheard a DS (who had been working on a case with them) telling Havers they were a lot like Romeo and Juliet. She had snorted and told him they were more like Punch and Judy, if anything. He'd smiled. They were a lot like Punch and Judy, weren't they? Although his heart had felt a little heavy, being dismissed that easily_ again_ as her Romeo.

He had to admit to himself that he had been anything but a gentleman when she had been dating. He had acted like a spoiled child who had been denied his favourite piece of candy. And what about the time when he had snarled at Winston that Havers was still at the seaside and had not come with him to London? Perhaps he had been slightly overprotective of her. Had he not kept her there because he didn't like her flirting with Winston over the phone or just in general?

Gods, he had been selfish, hadn't he?

As she went as silent as the grave, he dared to glance over at her. He noticed how tears were welling up in her eyes but she appeared to suppress them, not allowing them to trickle down her cheeks. She wouldn't show him her weaknesses. After all this time of working together, she still had a hard time doing so consciously, unless her control would slip. And he figured that she felt the need to be strong because he had been such a wreck for such a long time. She probably felt that she needed to be the backbone for the both of them. If truth be told, these days, she _was _his backbone. His distraction. He was holding onto her for dear life because he was afraid of the life that would otherwise face him.

He couldn't imagine what it would be like not working with her. He couldn't imagine what it would be like not hearing her tell him that two drinks was more than enough. He couldn't imagine not hearing her laughter or having her yell at him, reprimanding him for behaving like a spoiled child. He couldn't imagine not having her in his life.

He needed her here, _right here_, where she belonged; by his side. He needed her as much as he needed to breathe. As much as he needed his own backbone.

He had spent a good deal of his time working with her near her backbone. Often times he would stand behind her, looking over her shoulder to read along with her. Only when she'd move and bump into him would he realize he was probably standing a bit too close to her. He couldn't help it, once his curiosity concerning a case took over, invading personal space was not a problem. She hardly ever touched him, unless she would be preventing him from killing a killer or, if possible, doing something even more stupid. In those cases her touches were always firm and reprimanding, never soft and gentle.

Maybe, just maybe, the touching was for his own personal benefit as well, if only ever so slightly. After all, he was a man, she was a woman (although she had told him that sometimes she wondered if she really was) and he probably had spend as much time with Helen as he would spend with Barbara during a timeframe of 24 hours. Although the time he'd spent with Helen had been mostly at night, whereas he saw Havers mostly during the day. In her he had discovered a witty conversation partner.

He knew he cared for her, but sometimes he wondered if she knew he did. He wasn't good with words when it came to expressing his feelings. The one time he had told her he would really miss her if she were to leave the MET he had nearly burst out in tears.

Turning off the tap and drying his hands on a rather questionable looking towel, he pushed through the door of the gents and entered the busy pub. He stood there for a moment, watching the crowd, until he spotted his partner. She was sitting in the corner of the pub, sipping the head off of her beer, something he knew she loved doing, it was a habit of hers. She mostly did it when she was knee-deep in thought. He observed her for a moment from where he stood.

Helen had had far less curves than Havers did. However, Havers hardly seemed aware of her curves and never did too much to enhance and accentuate them, to make sure people noticed them. Helen had been quite the opposite. He liked Havers' modesty when it came to her figure, even though he had once, in a drunken slur, commented that with "a rack like that one, any man would love to have you". While blushing furiously she had mustered up the inebriated courage to ask him if he were one of those men.

That had been one awkward silence. They'd both finished their drinks in one swig and had never spoken of it again. He had decided the next morning that he'd never comment on her figure ever again.

His mind would be wandering down dangerous, traitorous lanes as of late.

There had been this one night, a few months ago, not long after he had been reinstated as a DI, when they had been working late on a case at her small flat. It was summer and "humid as hell", as she had pointed out. She had opened the windows wide but had closed them soon after mosquitoes had started buzzing in. He would sometimes sleep over at her place, or she would sleep over at his when they were working well into the night. He couldn't even count the number of times he had slept on her couch on two hands anymore. He figured that night had been number twelve or thirteen. Ever since he had turned up on her doorstep that one night, his life in shambles, telling her about Christine, Helen, _everything_, she had opened up her house to him. She always asked him why he was there but never asked him to leave. She always let him stay for the night.

That night had been different from previous ones though. Being a man who had known her for ages, he had noticed that her breasts appeared to have been better positioned lately and the only conclusion he could draw was that she probably had bought good quality bras (finally). That night had been no exception. She had however opted to wear a dark tank top instead of a baggy T-shirt (accentuating her breasts without her probably even being aware of it) and light linen pyjama bottoms instead of the heavy sweats she usually preferred to wear (or so he had thought). Her red hair had been combed and he actually had been able to distinguish traces of red nail varnish on her toenails.

Who was this woman?

She had never said or done anything that would be unlike Havers that night. She poured their drinks in the same way, discussed work in the same way, plonked down on the couch next to him in the same way as she always had. But something in his mind had shifted as she had entered her own living area looking like _that_. He had realized in that moment that he had not been looking at her the way he looked at Barbara Havers; dearest friend, colleague, backbone. He had been looking at her because she was a woman. He had been observing her because she was a woman. In that moment, he had desired her because she was a woman.

_His _woman.

He had often wondered what would happen if he were to act upon his physical urges.

And that simply would not do. At all.

It had only been about a year since Helen had died and already he was looking at other women? Alright, a single woman. He had loved Helen, he still did. He had loved the idea of her, the idea of being married to her. But had he truly and fully loved her the way Havers loved her mother and brother? Or the way his own mother still loved his deceased father? Or had he loved Helen mainly because she was the right choice? The proper thing to do? He still had no answers and he condemned himself because of it.

Then again, they did have their share of flirtatious banter every now and then, so it wasn't just him who was to blame for his inner turmoil and confusion. She'd told him once, when they'd been working together for nearly a year, about a series on TV where the 'psycho killer' had dropped his gun immediately when the female victim had undressed. Havers in turn had told him that she'd never drop any clothing to distract a killer. And he had commented that that was a shame.

He had had no idea where that had come from at the time. He still couldn't remember why he had said that. And if the expression that had been gracing her features was anything to go by, neither could she. However, she was far more mischievous and flirtatious than she would ever give herself credit for. Had she not laughingly uttered the phrase "What were they looking for? Hunks with their hoses?" to Helen? Had he not been completely taken aback and very amused at this? Sometimes these days he wondered if some of the smiles she had given him in the past had been more than smiles to her. As if, perhaps, he should have read more into them.

He sat down at their table, taking a sip of his drink.

Her hair was in a ponytail, loose tendrils framing her face. Her coat (he had noticed she recently had bought several, rather fashionable coats) was hanging from its shoulders on the back of her chair. She wore some jeans and a long sleeved striped shirt. Her shoes and boots nowadays had small heels and her clothes were far more pleasing to the eye. His eye.

Before he knew it, he had suggested to her that they should do things like this more often.

It was then that he noticed her smirking at nothing in particular. He wasn't sure whether it was a happy smirk, or a wry one.

"Barbara?" He felt himself smiling despite himself. He was amused by her daydreaming, and at the same time he was intrigued. He wondered what it was she was thinking of.

"Sir?" she asked. Gods, _again_ with the Sir. One would say that they were definitely not at work right now. She sounded slightly worried.

"You haven't been listening, have you?" He knew that she'd catch on to the playful note in his voice.

"No Sir, I'm sorry, my mind was somewhere else."

Although she was probably not going to tell him the truth about exactly where her mind had been wandering, he decided to humour her. He knew she hated having his pity, but figured she would be thankful.

"Ah, the tapes?"

"Yeah, it's just a lot to take in, Sir."

And there it was. He only had to dangle the bait and she had taken to it like a human starved. He went along with her; pretending and concluding it had been a wry smirk, then.

"Understandable, of course. If you feel you need to take a couple of days leave…" he suggested. There was something of hesitation in his voice. He didn't want her to take leave. Not only would he be left to his own demises and cleaning up the paperwork by himself but he also wouldn't want her to be alone when she was vulnerable. He wasn't completely selfish.

"No, Sir, I'll be fine."

Involuntarily, he raised his right eyebrow, obviously not buying her white lie.

But after enforcing her statement with a "_Really_, Sir.", he decided to let the matter drop. He chuckled in his glass, taking another sip. She was endearing. And a terrible liar.

"I was just saying Havers, we should do this more often." He smiled at her and it was heartfelt. She obviously was charmed by his smile because she flashed him such a bright smile he was pretty sure she mistook him for someone else. But in the meantime he was painfully aware of the fact that he was now mirroring her smile with one of his own. It was a good thing she agreed with him, though. Those eyes of hers were definitely her very best feature, he decided then and there.

_Although she does have very nice breasts__ as well…_

He pondered on this thought for a moment. She was certainly well built, petite and curvaceous. She probably thought of herself as fat. But she had always intrigued him, captivated him. She had a way of captivating people and he was no exception. Those large eyes would capture his and sometimes he felt as if he were drowning. The red hair framing her face. Her prominent cheekbones and those full, pinkish lips. That mouth that would always tell him truths. Her shoulders were broad but not masculine. Her breasts; full and prominent, but mostly hidden beneath layers of clothing (although said clothing was more stylish and formfitting these days). A nicely tapered waist, flaring into sturdy hips, rather slender thighs and strong legs. He pictured her bottom briefly; a bit wide but firm.

He had realized far too late that she had grown far too pleasing to his eye.

After a few seconds, though, she seemed at a loss of what to do next and averted her gaze to peer down into her glass. Her cheeks were a rosy red and he had severe doubts as to whether this was only because of the beer she had been sipping. Her sharp features appeared even sharper because of the flickering light of a small candle on their table.

He realized that he would probably only be digging himself a deeper hole if he were to spend more time with her outside of work. He'd probably say something with too much meaning behind it, or do something that would repulse her. His touches always seemed to unnerve her a bit, and her voice was sometimes laced with trepidation if he were to stand too close to her. He couldn't afford to mess up and lose the only true, albeit slightly unusual, friendship he had ever had.

"Barbara?" He tried to attract her attention subtlety and quietly but apparently it snapped her right out of her reverie. And all of a sudden she couldn't stop herself from looking him straight in the eye.

He couldn't breathe. Those eyes had knocked his breath right from his lungs. Oh yes, those eyes were definitely her finest feature. She seemed slightly breathless as well. He was thoroughly confused but mostly; intrigued. Once more and once again.

She was looking at him so intensely he felt as though there was some sort of anomaly on his face that she had only recently discovered. He could very well believe that theory if it weren't for her eyes. They were half lidded and if he didn't know any better he could have sworn she was using…well…'bedroom eyes' on him. And the most endearing part of this all was that she probably had no clue as to what she was doing to him.

Gods. He wanted to stand up from his chair, take one step, pull her roughly to her feet and kiss her senseless in front of all of these people he didn't know and quite rightfully didn't care to know at this moment. He knew this behaviour to be a far cry from the gentleman he once used to be, but he wanted it, hell, _her_ so bad it took all of his willpower to remain seated.

He knew very well that he wasn't what she wanted in a man. He didn't know what it was exactly that she was looking for but he couldn't imagine him coming even remotely close to it. Didn't she always refer to him as 'Your Royal Poncyness' or 'you and your lot'? But he wanted to be that man for her, poncy or not.

She was leaning forward. She didn't seem to realize it herself and he had to hold himself back in order to not meet her halfway and capture those moist lips in a searing kiss that would make her toes curl. Oh, he would make her toes curl. He'd take her with him, to his place, fit for a true gentleman. In his mind, they didn't even make it to his bedroom. He would proceed and do ungentlemanly things to her up against the wall, on the couch and bent over the kitchen table, his hands full of her firm ass cheeks as he would-

He coughed.

_Indeed._ He sat completely still. In the blink of an eye she seemed to realize her 'mistake' and quite abruptly stopped moving forward and closer, much to his own disappointment.

He was such a coward. Now she'd feel like a fool because he hadn't had the guts to meet her halfway, like a proper gentleman would have done. That would certainly boost her self-esteem.

_Wonderful, Lord Ash__erton._

"Barbara…" his voice was no more than a mere whisper now, croaked, low and husky. He cursed himself inwardly. She had been able to reduce him to a pile of…of…_randy_ mush in the matter of one minute, at most. He despised himself for thinking of her in such a disrespectful manner. She had done nothing to him that had been intentional. She had not meant to turn those eyes on him in such a way, he was sure of it. He had no right whatsoever to conjure up images of the two of them together, going at it like…_animals_.

What was even worse; he felt as though he had just objectified his only friend.

He felt disgusted with himself.

Her breaths were shallow and his own weren't quite regular either. Suddenly she looked away from him, to stare at an obviously _very _interesting spot on the wall behind his head.

"Barbara, is there…something you wish to tell me?" he queried. He was sure there were many things she wanted to tell him, but perhaps couldn't? He felt exactly the same. Something had shifted, again.

If only she would tell him that-

"No, nothing, Sir."

She smiled a modest smile. He returned her smile with a slight grin but in truth, he was sorely disappointed.

* * *

I only hope I stayed true to their respective characters so far…I feel Lynley will have his thoughts and feelings sorted out a bit more and accepts them more easily for what they are, whereas Barbara's are more insecure and jumbled.


End file.
